


Don't Fight It

by Marie_JosephJustCallMeLaf51



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: All the circus family, Attempted Suicide, Child Abuse, Homelessness, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, crappy childhoods, don't let it be just me, i don't know yet, i think, where's all the Barnum!whump guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_JosephJustCallMeLaf51/pseuds/Marie_JosephJustCallMeLaf51
Summary: An angsty Barlyle Toyshop!AU, because why has this not been done yet.Phillip has been harbouring a deep, unrequited crush for his friend and colleague, but when things take a turn for the worst, he finds out that there is a silver lining to every cloud.*Just a warning for some potential triggers, if you haven't read the tags yet!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear these two boys are my life rn.  
> Anyway, since there seems to be a severe shortage of Barlyle angst fics enjoy and pleased be inspired to write some more!

Phillip sighs, watching his breath disperse in a cloud of sparkling mist before reaching out and twisting the brass, guilded handle of the shop.  
It doesn't open, which is strange because P.T. is always, always here hours before he is himself. Honestly, where the man gets his energy is beyond him.  
Furrowing his brow, Phillip pulls his phone out of his pocket to check his messages. His screen is blank: no notifications or texts from P.T. or anyone else.  
Concern twists in his stomach before he waves it away with another sigh, heavy with exasperation.  
Phillip digs the key from his back pocket and opens the shop, rubbing his hands together in a vain hope to ward off the autumn chill. His partner must just be running late.

After switching on the lights, Phillip turns up the thermostat and gives the shop a quick once-over to make sure everything is in its proper place. Its not like anybody else would know, though, because there is absolutely no order in the shop whatsoever. It's a sort of organised chaos, which is what one would expect from P.T., he supposed.  
After a cup of hot coffee and a glance at the clock, Phillip shuffles to the door and turns the sign to open; it'll be a couple of hours before they're busy, but Christmas is always a hectic time of year.  
He stands in the doorway for a second, glancing up and down the street, but there's no sign whatsoever of P.T.  
"For god's sake Phineas..." He mutters, slightly fondly, to himself, once again taking out his phone and dialling the familiar number.  
It goes straight to answerphone, which means that his partner has his phone turned off.  
He might have waved it away, but P.T.s unusual absence combined with the lack of contact makes him uncomfortable.  
He calls Charity instead.  
"Hey, Chairy," he begins, trying to keep any doubt out of his voice.  
"Morning, Phillip. Are you ok?" She senses his disquiet, and he simultaneously praises and curses her for being such a Saint.  
"Um, yeah I'm fine, but...have you seen P.T.? He's not at the shop, so..."  
He listens to her hesitate, and decides that she either knows where he is, and won't tell him, or...well, that's about the only conclusion he comes to.  
"C'mon, Chairy, please, I'm worried about him." Phineas isn't a small man, but he's so goddamn juvenile sometimes letting him loose is like losing a hyper kid in a supermarket.  
Some might think it's strange, or annoying, but Phillip just finds it endearing.  
"Phil...listen, I can't tell you if he hasn't, but he's ok. Really." She adds, as if his doubt was a palpable thing.  
He sighs in acquiescence, reluctant to let it go but desperate to respect his friends privacy.  
"Fine." He groans, exhausted already. Phineas would be the death of him someday.  
"Thanks for your help, Charity, you're an angel."  
"I know," she quips, and he bids her goodbye before hanging up.  
Well there's nothing he can do now but go about business as normal.

When noon rolls around, so does P.T.. He comes through the door already in his uniform: black trousers and a royal red and gold ringmaster's jacket. He's been in a rush, which is obvious because one of his buttons is done through the wrong hole.  
His partner smiles at him, sheepishly, sliding elegantly over the counter because apparently that's easier that to walk through the little gate.  
"Where have you been?" Phillip demands, automatically reaching to fuss over P.T.'s sloppy dressing. The man let's him, flushing a little as he recognises his own state.  
"I, uh....I had an appointment."  
Phillip crosses his arms and looks up (he's not that much shorter, honest to god. It can't be more than two inches: Charity doesnt know what she's talking about) with a displeased glare.  
"Well tell me next time, please. I worry."  
Looking thoroughly reprimanded, P.T. ducks his head.  
He seems to realise that they've been stood nearly chest-to-chest for far longer than necessary and breaks away, red creeping up his neck as he clears his throat. Phillip sighs again as his heart gives a little tug, but he goes back to the till as a haggard customer -dragging a sea of screeching offspring behind her- drops a mountain of stuffed animals onto the counter.


	2. Come Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip knows something's going on with Phineas, but he's only just seemed to realise that it's something big.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter already bcause I had it written and why not? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> *I forgot to mention that in this fic P.T. is about 33/4 years old and Phillip is about 28, mostly because writing big age differences unsettles me. I'll try not to explicitly state this so it doesn't ruin it for you guys who like the age difference :)

Phillip watches the retreating back of the final customer, bidding them a good night before finally, finally turning the 'Open' sign to 'Closed'. It's been an exhausting day: even more so with P.T. out of the picture until noon.   
He silently watches his partner walk through the isles of their shop, picking up any stray toys that have been accidentally knocked to the floor. He handles each one with enviable care, and Phillip tears his gaze away before plodding into the back room to make himself and P.T. one last coffee.   
"So where were you today?" He hears Phineas walk in, and the footsteps turn into an uneasy scuffing as the other man squirms.   
"I told you. I was at an appointment." He's defensive. Now Phillip knows something's up.   
"C'mon, P.T., will you really not tell me?"   
He shrugs, and Phillip meets a nervous hazel gaze.   
"It's nothing important, really." It's said with such genuine sincerity that he has to believe him.   
"But, I...um...Can I...take Friday mornings off?" He asks, uncertain.  
And that tenuous belief is suddenly blown out of the window.   
Phillip furrows his brow in concern, holding out the coffee mug to his friend.   
"Phin, tell me what's going on."   
He's almost there; he can practically see P.T.'s resolve falter (a year or two in close collaboration has left him able to read Phineas' emotions like a book, espexially considering he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve).  
But then the walls are back up again, and Phineas retreats a single step. Phillip eyes his form intensely, as though it would be enough to pierce the man's tenable resolve.   
"Fine," he sighs, but not unkindly. Phillip didn't think he had it in him to be unkind to his friend.   
Friend.  
"Just...I hope you know that if anything's going on, Phin, then you can tell me...whatever it is."   
P.T. looks at him strangely, then, almost...awed.   
The silence reigns; though it isn't uncomfortable, there's something bouncing between them.   
"Thank you, Phillip." He relplies, timidly, before taking his top hat from the table and fidgeting with the worm velvet rim. He hesitated before leaving, almost as though unsure if he's allowed to leave.   
"'night, P.T." Phillip calls to his retreating back, cursing himself as his heart skips a beat.

\-----------

The following day, P.T. is back to his normal self. He's at the shop at least three hours before Phillip is, judging by the pleasant wave of heat that washes over him as he enters (it's 8am as it is, so Phillip isn't really sure it's a good thing, but he's certainly grateful as he's handed a hot latte).   
Though he himself is only just awake enough to flick through the paper, Phineas is already whirling around the shop like a constructive hurricane of red, gold and flashing smiles.   
"Jesus, P.T.," Phillip groans, taking him by the shoulders and steering him into a seat.   
"Just sit down for a minute- have you even eaten?"   
"Well, no, but-" he's forced to stop as an apple is launched his way.   
"Well eat now. I swear to god, Phin, you'll collapse."  
He's rewarded with a sparkling grin, and they lapse into silence as they eat.   
Even now, his friend is just vibrating with energy, leg jumping and fingers tapping a timeless rhythm onto the table.

The instant the clock reads 8:45am, P.T. opens the shop and beams at the customers that come streaming in. It's the day before Christmas Eve, after all, and people are scurrying around to find last-minute gifts.  
As Phillip works the counter, he absent-mindedly watches as Phineas entertains the customers, extravagant movements and soft, whispered secrets endear him to the children, who are all reluctant to leave once their parents are finished.   
When the numbers dwindle around lunchtime, Phillip opens the little gate to wander around the shop himself. For a brief second, he can't hear or see P.T. anywhere.   
"P.T.?" He calls out, unfazed, peering around one of the stalls.   
His partner is stood, rolling a small object in his hands. His shoulders are slumped and there's a shadow over his face.   
He looks as though his fire has been extinguished.   
Phillip doesn't want to say anything, but he's desperate to lift whatever horrible, dark...thing had cast such a desolate expression upon him.   
"Phineas?" He asks, quietly, taking a careful step forward.   
And just like that, the shadow is gone.   
"I, um...I..." Phineas stuttered, nervous, but trails off. He's left timid, just like he was yesterday. It unsettles Phillip, twisting deep into his stomach.   
He's never, ever seen P.T. look like that, not in the whole time he's known him.   
"Phineas, please tell me what's going on."   
The other man opens his mouth to speak, and for a second Phillip finally thinks he's going to open up, but his voice catches and he turns away, dead quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two next chapter might be up tomorrow or Thursday, honestly it depends on how much I'm able to write. 
> 
> I'm having great fun writing this, and I honestly hope you guys are having just as much reading it! 
> 
> Till the next chapter.


	3. This Is Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip is worried about Phineas, but when he attempts to investigate what's really going on is he prepared for what he finds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was finished earlier than expected. Already like 70 people have read this fic wow thanks guys and please leave kudos!

The next day, Christmas Eve, the shop is closed. Phillip had intended to spend the day sleeping in (since he works basically every morning) and making up some mulled wine for tomorrow. He tries, but ends up stewing over yesterday.   
What was going on?   
He'e never seen Phineas look like that, ever. Or at least, he didn't...  
Oh.  
Now that he puts his mind to it, he can think back to several occasions where his friend just seemed to...stop; zone out. Phillip had just passed it off as simply another one of his quirks and moved on.   
But now he was aware something was troubling P.T., he refused to let it go.   
Deep in thought, Phillip climbs out of bed and dresses in simple, but warm, sweatpants and a hoodie. Before leaving the house, he pulls on a winter jacket and leaves a quick voicemail to Charity, telling her where he was going.

The route to Phineas' home is a familiar one: after all, he'd been there several times before. It was a small, wooden-slatted building with a tiny porch that he now stands beneath, rapping his knuckles on the door.   
No answer.   
Phillip furrows his brow, knocking harder, but he doesn't really expect anybody to come to the door.   
So he tries the handle, hesitating only briefly before turning the brass knob, which twists and opens easily.  
The first thing he notices when he steps in, stomping the snow from his boots, is that the house was very dark and very cold. It was almost colder than outside, prompting him to shiver and draw his coat tighter around himself.   
He doesn't call out; already aware that the building is empty. Phillip glances around, unsurprised to find a collection of books papers and miscellaneous objects scattered about the floor of the living room. Looking through the archway into the kitchen, it was clear that it, too, was unoccupied and nothing was missing.   
He makes his way into the bedroom, noticing the unruly bedcovers and desk layed thick with pencil sketches and intricate drawings. As he fingers through them, Phillip smiles a little: tracing the feral mane of a lion as it leaps, growling. A few of them have been torn, and as he picks them up to investigate, he notices that some of them have been scribbled over, hard, with the dark lead of a pencil.   
It's insignificant, barely out of the ordinary, but the sight sparks a dark and uneasy feeling within his chest.   
A little more cautiously Phillip treads into the bathroom.   
Shit.   
Honestly he really doesn't want to go in; doesn't want to find any more evidence of anything wrong, but if he's going to find out what the hell is tourmenting his friend, then he needs to start here.   
The mirror is shattered, silvered glass scattered around the sink and on the floor. Phillip notices with dread droplets of blood on the porcelain sink.   
He scans the floor, frowning at the sight of two small, cylindrical bottles. As he picks them up, he turns them in his hand to see the labels.   
The first reads '40mg Paroxetine' which he googles instantly on his phone; it's an antidepressant. Some of the little green pills are spread amongst the mirror glass.   
The second has 'Adderall' typed in bold, black lettering, and he's read enough 'WebMD' to know that it's a medication for ADHD.   
Neither of the bottles are empty, and from what he can see there are several specks of blue and green on the floor, and relief floods him temporarily.   
Suddenly, Phillip remembers himself and scrambles for his phone after pocketing the pill bottles. He quick-dials Charity and waits for her to answer.   
"Phillip! How are y-"  
"Charity, is Phineas with you?" He doesn't have time for pleasantries, already out of the door.   
Instantly, she's so alert he can almost hear her attention shifting.   
"No, why?"   
"He was acting weird yesterday, so I went to see him but he wasn't in. Jesus, Chairy," he groans, overwhelmed for a second with panic.   
"The mirror was smashed, and his medication-"   
"Oh God, Phillip, please tell me-"   
"No," he hears her sigh in relief.   
"The pills were on the floor, thank god. I'm looking for him now,-"   
"I'm on my way." She hangs up, and he's stuffing his phone in his pocket and moving at a pace that's way too fast to be walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I should have the next update by Friday if all goes well. 
> 
> Until the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter guys! Honestly I wrote it in about 30 minutes so it's not gonna be the best work ever, but...eh. 
> 
> Credit to a friend who can't remember their username for helping me develope the plot, because I'm am possibly the most unimaginative person alive....
> 
> Next chapter up soon, guys, if you wanna stick around :)


End file.
